


For Old Time's Sake

by CelticAurora



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Missing Scene, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:03:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticAurora/pseuds/CelticAurora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested by an anonymous Tumblr user. While escorting her back to the palace, Milady asks Athos to do something. For old time's sake. Missing scene, post "Through a Glass Darkly"</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Old Time's Sake

“Where will you go now?”

Milady – no, Anne, no matter who or what she had become, some part of her would always still be Anne, his Anne – looked up at him. Her face was hard, a carefully-composed mask, but there was something in her eyes that made some small, deep part of his heart go out to her. Something vulnerable.

 _Vulnerable?_ Athos had to try not to snort. Anne had traded _vulnerable_ long ago, traded it for _ruthless_ and _deadly_ and _cold._

“Why does it matter to you?” she asked.

The worst part of it all was that Athos couldn’t explain to her why it mattered so much, because he himself barely knew why it mattered so much. All he knew was that, after that episode with Marmion, Anne was now out of the King’s favor – and, presumably, would have to vacate her lodgings at the palace, provided Louis’s tantrum was more than just blustery show. Sometimes, it was hard to tell with him.

“Merely curious,” he said, jaw tight. He’d been given the task of escorting Anne back to the palace – again, presumably to pack her belongings. Athos couldn’t say whether he’d been given the task because Treville and the king trusted him to make sure she didn’t get up to anything – or sneak off with anything – or if it was some kind of cosmic punishment for something he’d done wrong.

Anne stopped. He stopped, too, waiting to see what she was going to do next. A smirk came to her face.

“You still care.”

He said nothing. Unfortunately, that only seemed to add fuel to her fire. This time, she actually smiled.

“What did I say, Athos? There would be no peace for either of us, until – ”

“Until we are both dead, yes, I recall,” he sighed. “Let’s continue, shall we? I have business to get back to.”

They had wandered into one of the many squares of Paris; this particular one was full of taverns. Once upon a time, it would have been a terrible temptation for him, to just duck into one after depositing his estranged wife at the palace and drowning himself in a particularly nice bottle of Spanish red. He was getting better about that, but…after the day he’d had today, the temptation was a little harder to resist. Several of the doors were open, filling the darkening square with yellow light. From one of the taverns came the sound of a fiddle – squeaky, a bit out of tune, but not played without talent. Athos turned to face Anne again, this time a little less patient and a little more than ready to drag her back to the palace. To his surprise, she had her hand out to him.

“What are you doing?”

“A dance?” she asked, that same smirk on her face.

“No.”

“For old time’s sake?”

“Absolutely not.”

She said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow at him. And, just like earlier, where he’d grudgingly found himself helping her into her saddle, he found himself once more compelled. There was just something about her – dark brow elegantly arched, green eyes sparkling, and a smirk on her gorgeous, sinful lips – that he couldn’t say no to.

Damn that woman.

With a sigh, he took her hand. The tune was lively and spirited, the kind of tune they had danced to at their small wedding. There had been little pomp and circumstance; had he not been so desperate to see his eldest son marry and produce heirs, Athos suspected that his father would have rather have disowned him for marrying some common girl with a troubled past, instead of the girl he’d been betrothed to since they were young. Anne clearly remembered that day; she stepped forward, then back, light on her feet with a smile on her face. Athos followed her movements, surprised at how natural it felt. He hated dancing. But he had always been quick on his feet. He wouldn’t have been the best swordsman in the garrison if he wasn’t.

There were people passing through the square who shot them strange looks as they danced, Anne grinning triumphantly and Athos sure he looked like he’d rather be thrown into the Seine. However, some of the clientele of the surrounding taverns spilled out into the streets, and soon, they were not the only ones dancing. He wasn’t sure if he was comforted by that fact, or just more embarrassed.

The music sped up. Athos seized Anne about the waist, pulling her against him as they turned tightly. And, in that moment, while they twirled, the outside world faded away. It was no longer 1630, in Paris, where he was a Musketeer and she was a spy and assassin. It was 1624, where they were the Comte and Comtesse de la Fère – no, not even that, they were Olivier and Anne, young and happy and desperately in love. Dancing through a field of flowers when no one was looking, kissing each other senseless under the warm sun.  A strange ache filled Athos’s chest, more painful than if he’d taken a hit. How could they have gone from then to now? How could they have gone from that kind of love to the desperate, unhealthy love-hate sort of relationship they had now?

And then, he remembered the sight of his brother’s body on the floor, blood on his shirt and a knife in Anne’s hand. _He left me no choice,_ she had claimed. _I did it to save our love._

_He tried to force himself on me._

He wasn’t even sure what he believed anymore. What he felt. He loved Anne. He hated her. He wanted to see her safe. He wanted her gone out of his life for good.

The music came to a crescendo. Athos seized her by the waist again, and then, swept her up off her feet. The other dancers followed suit as the fiddle squealed to a high note. As soon as the dancers were all back on their feet again, the music stopped. Athos’s hands were still about Anne’s waist, their faces a scant inch apart. Her cheeks were flushed, strands of her dark hair falling into her face, sticking to the damp spots. Athos reached out, gently brushing a strand out of her face.

What had just happened between them? Was it even real? It felt like some kind of dream brought about by too much drinking, just like the night that he had seen her at la Fère, when he had believed her dead. He had been so far gone that it would have been easy for him to believe she was a product of his guilty conscious. But this time, he was completely sober. What had just happened had been real.

“Athos?” she asked, quiet, sounding just as bemused as he felt.

He took his hands from her waist, taking a step back. Putting on the mask of the soldier once more.

“We should get you back to the palace,” he said. “I suspect Louis’s waiting for you to…pack your things.”

For a moment, she looked hurt – a year ago, he wouldn’t have believed she was capable of still being hurt, that there was no heart left in her. Now, he wasn’t so sure. However, she hid it quickly, behind a mask as stiff and unfeeling as his own.

“Will you be sticking around to watch my fall from grace this time?” she asked sharply. “Or will you leave, like you did last time?”

He took a deep breath, a thought coming to mind. He must have been crazy. He really must have been.

But, if nothing else…she was a human being, who had been wronged by Louis’s petulant behavior. Even she didn’t deserve that, to be thrown out with nothing because of the petty wills of a man who had never known a day of hunger, of desperation.

“Meet me at the garrison tomorrow morning,” he told her. “I…will have something for you.”

He turned and left, then, despite knowing he was supposed to take her all the way to the palace. She could make it from there. The King would have guards there. She would be well-supervised.

Right now, he _really_ needed a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find me here](http://thatdeadpoetgirl.tumblr.com)


End file.
